Dragon 50: my first ultra

Last year's edition of the Dragon 50 was set to be my first ultra, and I was excited. Mandatory kit acquired, my bag was packed and ready to go weeks in advance. A sea of green completed sessions on TrainingPeaks.

The week of. My note on Monday's run reads: "Dehydration / alcohol / heat from weekend. Not enough stretching after biking. Sitting in cars / trains. Annoyed at myself for not getting on top of it".

From there, my run training fell apart with continual IT band issues. I somehow made it through not only the Ironman and 70.3 autumn double but an 18 week marathon training block without properly solving the problem.

Or at least most of the 18 weeks - 10 days before my April marathon, they struck with a vengeance. Two days before Boston, I finished Jamaica Pond parkrun in 50:32... As unhappy as I was to miss Boston my bigger fear was missing the Dragon 50 in 2026 for a second year running with exactly the same issue.

Suddenly I had a reason to take strength sessions seriously. 12 weeks of legs and core strength sessions followed. I saw the proof when I was pain free for a 43km recce of the Barry section of the coastal path, before setting a 10km PB the following week.

The Dragon 50

The Dragon 50 felt like a good starting point for an ultra. Relatively flat with about 1,000 metres of elevation, after an initial 5 mile loop round Kenfig sand dunes it follows the coastal path all the way east until the finish in Cardiff.

The Morning

Saturday afternoon saw a trip to Merthyr Mawr for an easy 12km in the Rabbit Run. I've not run on sand much before and it was a useful experience. It really does get everywhere.

5 hours sleep and a 5am taxi to the start line. Registered and drop bag packed. More Salomon vests than I've seen in my life packed onto a coach and off to the start we went.

The Plan

I've been using my homemade AI coach for training for the last few months. It's not always the most precise, but for the Dragon 50 it was unequivocal. Fuel well. Drink lots. But most importantly - Do. Not. Go. Out. Too. Fast. "Pacing discipline in the opening 20km is everything - the course will punish those who go out too hard."

The Race

3, 2, 1, GO. And - in no big surprise to anyone, including myself, I WENT. Pacing strategy straight out the window.

The plan was to hold 5:30 min/km for the first 50km and see how I felt. Even that had felt impossible on my recce three weeks ago.

So like an Idiot (with a purposeful capital I), 15 of my first 16km were well below that - most around the 5:00 mark. What was I doing?! The problem was two fold: the leader, who I knew to be a very good runner, far above my level, had shot off, and I'd chased him. And on my fool's errand, I'd found a companion. Chatting away - my heart rate already in Zone 3 - at least took my mind off my Idiotic behaviour.

The Kenfig lap was through the sand dunes. I darted between firmer parts of ground like an ungainly gazelle, before the relief of a better surface round Porthcawl. A familiar sight, running alongside the 10km course, and knowing it would be hot I started on my water and gel bars early.

Past the second aid station at 10 miles and I was back at Merthyr Mawr. My companion didn't stop for water and I followed him through the sand dunes and then onto the beach at a distance. The soft surface was sapping me. My pace slowed towards target. Unfortunately, my heart rate didn't. Lots of effort to not go very fast. Shoes full of sand. Head down, keep chasing.

Seeing my mum at the stepping stones at Ogmore Castle was one of the high points. I bounded across while the camera man begged me to fall in to give him a good photo. Stopped to change socks and clean my feet in the river. It's amazing what a difference it makes.

Shortly after, I caught back up with my friend, and we ran back to the coast together and along to the third checkpoint. With the heat rising, my water was disappearing quickly. Bad decision here not to top up my bladder - I went with just the 750ml.

Left the aid station solo, and set off for Nash Point. The heat here had really shot up; I felt like I was in an oven. Some harsh climbs up and down valleys, but the legs were holding up well. Great decision to stop at the kiosk for a cold bottle of water; half over me, half in me.

Another morale boost seeing Dee in the woods round St Donats. The heat had really started to sap me and the pace I'd set off at was unsurprisingly catching up with me already. I didn't have much energy for a chat; I felt a bit see through, like a ghost. The course was getting tougher and I was slowing down.

Reaching checkpoint 4 at just after 10am, I was already roasting and very thirsty. At this point, I'd drunk about 3 litres of water and probably sweated out 5. The Lucozade bottle in my drop bag was like nectar from the gods. Suncream slathered on to be immediately sweated off. I filled up both my bladder and my flask, and set off into the desert.

Navigation up to this point had been easy. I'd nearly got lost a few times at the start, but my friend had pointed me in the right direction. Nearly at 50km in it finally went wrong. A partially hidden turning on the coastal path foxed everyone, and we took a hefty detour round a field. Frustratingly, I made the mistake of listening to another competitor instead of trusting my instinct and lost well over 5 minutes. Always trust your gut...

By checkpoint 5, 50km in, in the shadow of the old Aberthaw power station, I was still frustrated from wasting time. The sun was beating down and I was already feeling weak. I knew I was in 3rd, and it was a nice surprise to find 2nd place also at the check point.

He pulled away while I walked along eating a brioche bun. After a few minutes I forced my legs to get going again, and clawed myself into 2nd inch by inch. At this point there was no pacing strategy other than plod along and walk the hills.

I think the scenery was pretty but I didn't take much of it in. Bursts of support along the course came from curious places but were very welcome; running through a caravan park, or passing other competitors and walkers.

Checkpoint 6 at Porthkerry was a throwback. I'd only been here once before - when doing an 18 mile trail race 2 years ago, which had made me think an ultra was a good idea. That day, my friend Tom had kept my pace sensible. If only he'd been here today to do the same.

At this point, my watch hit 52km, and distance overtook all other thoughts. "28km to go". "27km to go". Head down, one foot in front of the other. No real cognitive thoughts at this point apart from remembering to eat and drink.

Barry Island follows Porthkerry. I've done a few events here which use the same roads, so I was finally starting to get my bearings. The swap to tarmac was a boost but the heat searing up off it was brutal. The last time I was on Ffordd y Mileniwm, and its long uphill drag, I was on a bike. If only I could swap my legs for wheels I thought longingly.

Through the dock and back to the coastal path. Here, I realised I'd burnt through all my water already - all 3 litres of it. The next aid station wasn't for 3km and I could have drunk a swimming pool. Past the beach at Hayes Point and I was managing to hold just under 6:00 min/km. Smashing my foot into an unseen rock helped take my mind off all the other things that were hurting.

Where was I? Who was I? Who knew at this point. I could visualise the route from here; I knew what was to come, and what I really wanted to do was find some air con and sit in the dark for a few hours.

The last checkpoint. Finally, more water. The happy volunteers were great and a big help. Every now and then I was passing 100 miler runners; I felt like if I'd done another 10 miles I'd be done, let alone 50. I'd realised my tracker had lost connection an hour ago, so no one had any idea where I was - luckily, it fixed itself, and I could see I was hanging onto second, with third and fourth a mile and two miles back.

Round Lavernock, it was onto the home stretch. I was yoyoing with a 30 miler - I walked the uphills, he overtook me, I ran the flats and caught him back up. A glimpse of Cardiff Bay through the trees was the motivation I needed. 5km to go, the heat more bearable with cloud cover, and I was finally confident I'd make it.

Running through the busy Sunday crowds at Penarth saw a mix of bemused looks and shouts of motivation. The last challenge; up and over the steep climb at Penarth Head. Surprisingly OK, as was the downhill. The spectre of my knee injury was now firmly conquered; no niggles, no twinges, the strength work was worth it.

Onto the final effort - the end in sight. Or not. The barrage bridge raised just as I arrived. 5 minutes which felt like eternity. Bending down on my haunches made me nauseous, so I strolled around like a caged lion.

A group of us built up, and I was straight through the barriers as soon as they were open. I wanted to come across the finisher line by myself, not blocked behind a giant Welsh flag. The more sensible option would have been to wait behind the others, but I pumped in two unnecessarily quick finishing kms, and the finish line loomed.

The Aftermath

Unlike the Ironman, there was strangely no sense of exhilaration on finishing - I was just glad it was done. I was confirmed as second place in a time of 8:23, with a nice voucher to go with it, but sadly no trophy (one day I'll win one for my office shelf).

A few friends met me at the finish line and quickly realised I was going to be terrible company. The effects of the hard last effort, too long in the sun, and drinking gallons of water were catching up with me.

Some dry retching outside followed; the sexy side of endurance sport. I felt bad for the couple sitting next to me, probably on a romantic date. Not the soundtrack you want to hear. Surprisingly, a few minutes of this sorted me right out, and I was back to normal (ish) and ready for some fish and chips and the World Cup final.

What's Next

Patience; that's what ultras take. It's what I learnt I definitely don't have.

Would I do another ultra? Maybe, but not any time soon. I'll have another crack at a marathon and then decide from there.

The sensible option is no doubt to stick to half marathons or shorter, where I don't have to pace myself so aggressively. A small - very small - part of me thinks I should have another go at a 50 miler and just behave myself. Maybe I'd actually enjoy it. If I do, it won't be any time soon.

The Stats

Total distance	80.74 km
Finishing time	8:23:09 (including the barrage stop of 3 minutes)
Average pace	6:14 min/km (inc stops)
Moving time	approx 8:00
Position	2/64
Calories	6,500
Average HR	148 bpm